


Fugue State

by mallfacee



Series: Life in D Minor [1]
Category: Criminal Minds (US TV)
Genre: Based on episode 4x14: Zoe's Reprise, Canon-Typical Violence, Case Fic, Classical Music, David Rossi is a dad, Family Bonding, Family Dynamics, Kid Fic, Multi, Piano, Season 4 AU, Team as Family
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-12-26
Updated: 2018-12-31
Packaged: 2019-09-28 04:09:04
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 3,484
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17175587
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/mallfacee/pseuds/mallfacee
Summary: fugue:noun1. a contrapuntal composition in which a short melody or phrase is introduced by one part and successively taken up by others and developed2. a state or period of loss of awareness of one's identity---When David Rossi goes on his book tour, he doesn't expect to see a twelve-year-old girl at one of his signings. He definitely doesn't expect to be approached by said girl and asked for his help to catch a serial killer. But soon the BAU team ends up on the streets of Cleveland, hunting a killer no one knew existed who has a disturbing penchant for classical music. The key to solving this case may just rest in this child after all.





	1. Vivaldi's "Autumn, II: Adagio"

**Author's Note:**

> Classical music plays a huge role in this fic. A playlist with all the pieces referenced can be found  here. This playlist will be updated as the story is.

He notices her right away. It’s hard to miss the twelve-year-old taking notes in the third row. As he does his reading, Dave wonders what sort of parent lets their child come to something like this. Never mind that it’s ten o’clock on a school night; what sort of parent lets their child come to a book signing for a book called  _ Deviance: The Secret Desires of Sadistic Serial Killers.  _ Vaguely he thinks that if he had a child he would never let them read his books, let alone come to a signing. There’s something vaguely morbid about the whole thing, and watching this little red-head taking notes in a purple notebook with a backpack covered in pink hearts at her feet makes him a bit sick to his stomach. 

He expects her to leave when the signing ends. Surely there’s someone coming to pick her up. But the girl just stands there, clutching her notebook to her chest like a shield, turning her feet inward like her scuffed up Converse will prevent anyone from hurting her. She stands in the back and watches him as he talks to other fans, and Rossi can practically feel her nerves pierce the air. It isn’t until he’s starting to leave that she approaches him. 

“Mr. Rossi!” she says, following him. She struggles to catch up to his long strides, and Dave has a flashback to being her age when your new long limbs don’t quite match the rest of your body. He stops and looks down at her. 

“Mr. Rossi, I was wondering if your team was looking into the spike in homicides in Cleveland recently,” she asks all in a rush. It’s like if she didn’t get the words out as fast as possible they would escape her. He just cocks his head at her. 

“Not that I’m aware of…” He says, regarding her thoughtfully. “How old are you, sweetheart?” 

“Eleven,” she tells him. “But I’m going to be twelve next month.” 

“And you follow crime statistics?” 

“It’s a recent interest. There’s an uptick in homicides by 11% his quarter. The average uptick hasn’t surpassed 5% in the past ten years. I checked.” 

“Where are your parents?” 

She looks down at her feet. “I live with my grandfather. He doesn’t know I’m here.” 

“I see,” Dave says. “I take it he also doesn’t know you’re reading my books about serial killers.” 

“I told him it was a YA mystery series. You know, those things with vampires and secret romances and stuff like that.” 

“Maybe that’s the kind of thing you should be reading.” 

“My name’s Autumn,” she says abruptly. “Autumn Johnson.”

“Autumn Johnson. I’ll admit you are the youngest fan I’ve encountered so far.” 

“I’m not a fan. I mean. I am. That came out wrong. But I don’t just pick up random stuff about serial killers for fun. I’m not some weirdo I swear.” Dave can’t help but smile at her. There’s something about her that reminds him vaguely of Reid when he’s excited about something. That feeling that she values words over air. 

“I didn’t think you were, kiddo.”

“It’s just… My dad’s an FBI agent. He… Well you see, my mom always said that my dad was an FBI agent. That he died before I was born,” Autumn says, and Dave feels a twinge in his chest. So that’s what this was all about. 

“I’m sorry to hear that,” Dave tells her. 

“But that’s not the whole story. See, my mom died two months ago. And when she died I found my birth certificate. And… and it turns out that he’s not all that dead.” She reaches into her backpack and pulls out an official sheet of paper. 

Dave bites his lip. “Kid, if you think I can help you find him--”

“You don’t need to do that,” Autumn says and hands him the piece of paper. He glances over it and feels his heart drop into his stomach. 

_ State of Ohio Certification of Birth  _

_ Name: Autumn Lindsay Johnson _

_ Date of Birth: March 12, 1998 _

_ Mother’s Maiden Name: Linda Clarice Johnson _

_ Father’s Name: David Rossi _

“I found him already,” Autumn says quietly. Dave sits down hard in the chair in front of her, making him eye level. 

“I… I… Linda Johnson… Jesus Christ.” Dave runs his hands over his face. 

“Mr. Rossi, I don’t know how else to say this so I’m just going to say it. I think Cleveland has a serial killer, and I think that serial killer killed my mom. And I need your help to catch him.” 


	2. Schubert’s “String Quartet No. 14 in D Minor: Death and the Maiden”

The car ride back to his hotel is long and quiet for Autumn. Mr. Rossi spends most of it on the phone. 

“Garcia, I need you to get me everything you can on a Linda Johnson in Cleveland, Ohio,” he says, and Autumn wonders if this Garcia person is going to help her. 

Mr. Rossi calls her grandfather next, and Papa is not happy to be woken up at eleven p.m. on a Tuesday to be informed that his granddaughter has snuck out to go to a book signing by an FBI agent. She can hear Papa assuring Mr. Rossi that Autumn is a good kid and that she’s been acting out since her mother died and that he can come to get her as soon as possible. Autumn can’t decide if she’s grateful or not that Mr. Rossi doesn’t mention the whole ‘I’m Autumn’s father’ thing, but Mr. Rossi’s insistence that Autumn will be safe with him and that Papa can come get her in the morning makes Autumn let out a breath she didn’t know she was holding. She knows she’s in so so much trouble and that Papa is probably going to ground her until she’s thirty, so she decides not to look a gift horse in the mouth. 

When they get to the hotel, Mr. Rossi walks fast up to his room and Autumn struggles to catch up. Vaguely she wonders if she’s going to be tall like him one day, or if she’s going to take after her mother. She knows she doesn’t look like her father at all. 

She stands in the doorway while Mr. Rossi rushes around the room. She tries not to stare too much and instead goes to work chewing the chipped blue polish off her nails. It strikes her that this is the exact type of situation she was warned against in Mr. Rossi’s books. She’s a young girl alone in a hotel room with a man she doesn’t know. Of course, Mr. Rossi is, in fact, her father, and he did tell Papa exactly where he was taking her, so maybe this was the exception to the rule. 

Finally, Mr. Rossi indicates for her to sit down on the couch. He sits across from her, and vaguely Autumn wonders if this is what the criminals in Mr. Rossi’s book felt like when they were being interrogated. 

“I don’t know what you were hoping to accomplish tonight, kid,” Mr. Rossi says. Autumn just shrugs. 

“It seemed like the right thing to do,” she tells him. She shifts in her seat guiltily. She can’t help but feel like she’s in trouble. Maybe that’s why she keeps talking. “I mean, it can’t be a coincidence that my mom is murdered during one of the highest crime spikes in the past ten years, and then my long lost father who I thought was dead just happens to be a high profile FBI agent who’s known for catching serial killers? And he just happens to show up in Cleveland just two months after I figure all this out? It’s like fate, Mr. Rossi.” 

“Please, just call me Dave,” he says. “Look, kid. You realize I can’t just dive into this right? I have to verify your story.” 

“My story?” Autumn asks incredulously. She can’t help but feel a bit hurt. “You think I’m lying?” 

“Anyone can fake a birth certificate, kiddo. How do I know someone hasn’t put you up to this?”

“Cause they haven’t! I don’t know how to fake a birth certificate, okay! Why would I lie about something like this? Who even does that?” Autumn feels like she’s floundering. She can feel tears in her eyes and pulls her knees to her chest, gripping the toes of her Converse. Under her fingers, pen stained Jonas Brothers lyrics stare up at her. She had felt so grown up tonight, going to a book signing all by herself, taking notes and feeling so so serious and impressed with herself. Now she just feels like a dumb little kid. 

“Aw, kid…” Dave says, putting a hand on her shoulder. 

“My name is Autumn!” she snaps angrily, pulling away from his grasp. She can feel the tears streaming down her face and makes a point not to look at him. At that moment, Autumn wants nothing more than to have the floor swallow her up. “You were supposed to help,” she whispers miserably. “You were supposed to make it better.”

She can hear Dave sigh beside her. “Autumn,” he says gently. “This isn’t something I can fix.” 

“But you’re my dad. My mom said you were a hero,” she says, and even saying it she feels a bit silly. Grown-ups don’t believe in heroes. “Why can’t you fix it?” 

There’s a long silence in the room, and Autumn swears she can hear the gears turning in Dave’s head. 

“I can look into the case,” he says finally. “See if there’s anything I can find.” 

Autumn can’t help the smile that appears on her face. Something that feels almost like relief washes over her. 

“I can help!” she tells him quickly. She goes into her backpack and picks up her purple notebook. She tries to cover up the flowers she had doodled on the cover and the “Autumn + Nick 4Ever” she had idly written on it during Algebra. She quickly skips past the half-done homework assignments, and the music transcriptions and gets to a section that has “Crime Notes” written neatly at the top. She vaguely hopes that Dave will think she’s being professional, just like he is. That he’ll be impressed by what a great job she’s done gathering notes. 

He looks down at her work with a strange expression on his face. “This is… These look a lot like my case notes.” 

Autumn nods happily, glad that he noticed. “The tenth-anniversary edition of  _ Deviance  _ has pictures of your original notes. So I copied the format. So they’d be more official.” 

“That’s… real smart of you.” Dave says finally. 

“You like it?”

“Yeah, you’ve done a good job. Listen, why don’t I hold onto this for a while. Your notes might be useful to us. Is that alright?” Dave says. 

Autumn smiled and nodded eagerly. She had only known her father for an hour and a half and he was already proud of her. In her head, Autumn did a happy dance.

“Keep it for as long as you need,” Autumn tells him. “Do you want me to go over the case for you?”

“Not tonight. Why don’t you get some sleep? I have some calls to make and then we can regroup in the morning.” 

Autumn can’t help but feel a bit put out. She wants nothing more than to talk through this with him. Maybe, just maybe, if he thinks she’s just like him, he’ll want her. Papa is great but Autumn is not stupid. Her grandfather is eighty and she takes care of him more than he takes care of her. He’s not going to be around forever. She’s going to need somewhere to go. 

“Yeah, yeah of course. I’ll brief you then.” Autumn says with a small smile. Dave gives her a small smile back. Autumn goes about untying her shoes and excuses herself into the bathroom. Once inside she stares at herself in the mirror. She really doesn’t look like her father. She’s all red hair and freckles. The only thing vaguely similar is their eyes, the same deep brown color. She’s always hated her eyes and she wonders if that means something, like some sort of omen. She thinks for a moment, that maybe this whole thing has been a mistake. Maybe she should have stayed home. 

She pushes a strand of hair behind her ear. There’s nothing to be done for it, she guesses. She’s here. She’s with her dad. Perhaps, for now, that has to be enough. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The playlist has been updated with the music for this chapter.


	3. Wei Congfei's "Bluestone Alley"

As soon as Autumn is in the bathroom, Dave steps into the hallway and calls Penelope. He feels bad about it, knowing that technically she shouldn’t be working. But she’s also the only one he trusts to get the information to him. He also knows Penelope won’t say anything to the rest of the team until he’s sure there’s something to say. 

“What can you tell me about the Linda Johnson case?” he asks without so much as a hello. 

“Okay, so Linda Johnson, 46, was killed in her Cleveland apartment on December 17. She was bound, raped, and tortured, before being shot twice in the head and chest. She was found the next morning by, oh god… by her eleven-year-old daughter Autumn. Autumn was spending the night with a friend that night.” 

Dave felt his heart clench. There’s something absolutely horrifying about the idea of the kid on the other side of the door coming home to that sight. Dave has seen too many crime scenes to have any illusions that she was spared. 

“What can you tell me about Autumn?” 

“Not much to tell. She’s a seventh-grader at Wade Park elementary-middle school. Average grades. Teachers say she’s bright, but unmotivated, and has trouble focusing in class. Described as a people-pleaser, but doesn’t have many friends. Mostly keeps to herself. She has a significant number of absences from… oh. Oh, that might explain some things.” 

“What is it?” 

“Miss Autumn Johnson is a piano prodigy. I have a ton of excused absence waivers for her to attend music competitions, performances, et cetera.  Has been enrolled in Juilliard’s high school summer program for the past six years under a waiver for special circumstances. Private tutoring by the musical director of the Ohio Philharmonic since she was three. She’s performed with New York Philharmonic twice as part of their Junior Academy. Some of these videos are truly impressive.” 

Dave’s mouth twitches into something that could almost be a wry smile. He flips through the purple notebook in his hand and notes the pages upon pages music notes, handwritten music staffs with things like “transcribe to A minor? Dissonance on the bass clef?” written in the margins. 

“Penelope can you look up Autumn’s birth certificate. The notarized version.” 

“Yeah of course. Autumn Lindsay Johnson, born March 12, 1998, in Cleveland, Ohio. Mother is Linda Clarice Johnson also of Cleveland Ohio. Father is…. oh. Oh wow.” 

“Father is David Rossi, right?” 

“I…. yeah. Did you…. what case is this, sir?” 

“Autumn showed up at my book signing tonight. Gave me her birth certificate and said she wants my help finding the serial killer that she thinks killed her mom. Had this whole notebook with the crime statistics.” 

“Jesus… that’s… that’s….” 

“Morbid? I know. I’ve seen a lot in my days but this kid…” 

“So is this a case, sir?” 

“I don’t know yet. Look, Penelope let’s just keep this between us for now. I want time to figure things out.” 

“Of course, sir. And Rossi?” 

“Yeah?” 

“If Autumn’s records are anything to go by, she’s a good kid.” 

“I’m getting that sense.” 

He says his goodbyes and hangs up, going back into the room. Autumn has curled herself into a ball on the couch. He gently puts a hand on her shoulder. 

“Take the bed, kiddo. You need the rest more than I do. Growing and all that.” 

Autumn sat up. “I don’t want to impose.” 

“You’re not. Now come on. You do most of your growing in your sleep.” 

Autumn looks skeptical but gets up and gets herself situated in the bed. “Mozart was only 5’4” you know.” 

“You want to be the next Mozart?” He asks her, only half joking. 

Autumn shakes her head. “I want to be like Nannerl Mozart.” She declares 

“Nannerl?” 

“Mozart’s older sister. She was just as talented as him, and when they were kids she even got top billing over him a lot of the time. But their dad didn’t think a girl should be performing in public. So she got married off instead. But even then she kept composing. There are letters where Mozart praises her works and says she’s an even better composer than he is. Some of his most complicated works were written for her to perform. None of her works still exist though. No one thought to save them.” At this point Autumn yawns, the events of the night finally getting to her. Her voice turns drowsy as she talks. “I want to find them one day. Perform all her works at the Imperial Theater in Vienna.” 

“Very ambitious.” 

“Mm,” is all Autumn says, her eyes closing. 

“Get some rest.” He says gently. 

He waits until he’s sure Autumn is asleep before going through her notebook. The front half seems to be fairly normal kid stuff. Homework assignments, notes from a history class, heart doodles with “Mrs. Autumn Jonas” written in the center. Music fills every page, staff lines drawn in the margins, notes about compositions interrupting half-finished math homework. Pages upon pages of various music exercises. Each page is dated and, Dave can see the clear divide between “before” and “after.” 

Everything dated after December 17 looks like his crime notes. Neatly drawn charts depicting crime statistics. Four months of homicide in Cleveland mapped out by a girl who used to dot her I’s with hearts and dream in music notes. 

_ October 27: Married couple shot in car. No shell casings. Probably used a revolver or a pistol. Need to look up which kind of guns don’t leave casings.  _

_ November 4: Convenience store robbery on 53rd. Owner shot fifteen times and stabbed post-mortem. Ick. Deviance, pg 104 says overkill is a sign of anger. Same guy who killed the couple in the park maybe?  _

_ November 15: Jogger strangled in park. Same park where couple killed in October. No overkill this time. Still icky. Police don’t have any leads. No DNA was left. Why is this different from the other ones?  _

_ November 30: Two prostitutes killed on West Hampshire St. Throats cut. Stabbed post-mortem like the convenience store guy. Deviance says stabbing is a sign of impotence. Note: look up what impotence means.  _

_ December 17: Mom killed.  _

_ Not sure if it’s related to any of this but I can’t find the arrangement of “Carol of the Bells” that I wrote for the Christmas concert? I thought It was in the piano bench with my other sheet music but when I went through it at Papa’s it wasn’t there. Maybe killer took it? Trophy?  _

Dave can’t read anymore. The word “trophy” is smudged and water stained, and Dave can just picture Autumn crying as she wrote it. He shakes his head and tries to think logically about Autumn’s notes. There’s no signature. No common victimology. Different methods of killing. Nothing to indicate a serial killer. Part of him is relieved at that. But it doesn’t change the fact that there’s still a young girl who found her mother’s body in his hotel room, and that there’s a good chance he may be her father. 

He closes the notebook and looks over at Autumn. He vaguely remembers Linda Johnson. He had gone on two dates with her during his first book tour of  _ Deviance.  _ The sex had been great but ultimately nothing had come of it. He hadn’t thought about her in years. And now there is a little girl who was potentially half his and half Linda Johnson’s sleeping in his bed. Linda Johnson has been brutally murdered and this half-him-half-Linda girl was the one who found her. He didn’t know how to even begin to reconcile that. 

Dave doesn’t sleep that night. Instead, he watches Autumn, the way her eyes screw up when she dreams, how her breathing slows, the way she curls around the blankets. Her red hair spills over the pillows like a force of nature. He has a moment where he imagines doing this eleven years ago. Standing over a crib watching a little red-haired infant sleep. He wonders how much he has missed. 

He never understood the appeal of kids. Sure he loved spoiling Jack and Henry. Loved being the fun uncle. But the idea of parenting always seemed foreign to him. In the morning, Autumn wakes up and stares up at him shyly with bleary eyes. “Morning,” she mumbles sleepily, and all at once, Dave gets it. 


End file.
